Burlington weekly free press. [volume] (Burlington, Vt.) 1866-1928, 1887-04-01
ny Rlv. GgoRGE F. HUNTING.

and meado 5 are i,wcllsd with corn.
Toe clouds had Il mountan-tDp rally
Last uiLht. when their temper was swec
I To-day all the mills IN the valley,
Are winding, ANA grinding the wheat
The wheat that the bountlful prairie
| PourS out for he world as its guest,
1t rea like tory of fairy
This tale of the wonderful West.
The beautiful West, the boundicss West.
Dearly we love the; but first and best
Is the mo her land, the mountain and
| Rugged ana irluid, but none 20 grHi d
! 'MOnV alt the ch "iccst Of climcs on earth
AS the IN )untain-and which gave US birth
That little wedge of rocks and hills
Thrust in tween lake and river
Has shar' Il the richest gifts that e'cr
Came down from God, the Giver.
1t ia our later Palestine
| Forgivc a sons DEVOTION
Old Mansfield i our Lebanon,
Champluin our western ocean.
Missisquoi. Otter Creek, Lamoille,
May each our Jordan be,
while Me.mphreem , ,Eog deep and clear,
No fancy is our Olvet,
But we may lind it where
| Gods benedlctipn touch d our lives,
When mother bowed IN prayer.
And near, another, sacred hill,
And could find to-day,
| The very path our fathers trod
| Along that upWard way
| Uion the hill top, bleak and bare
| a gray Old churcn | see,
| Fond mcm'ri's cluster round the place,
Ills Calvary to me.
My Brothers, It's no dream of mine,
But true as truth may be,
Ii d walked among our native hills
with gifts Tor you and me.
Not least among those g0odly gifts
The hard and stubb srn soil
blessing SAUNDERS in the curse
Which sentenced man 10 toll.
Not grossness, bone and Drawn alone.
But heart md brain and soul,
May grandly thrive behind the pillow
And grow mighty whole.
The sweetest singer earth has heard
Drew fir IN the iurruwcd sod
Rarr Inspiration, Till his song
ImmortalIzcd the clJd.
The man who walked the quarter deck
Amid our toughest sea,
Had swurg the axe AMI piled the oar
And none 80 proud as he
To trace the winding river down,
And jest about the way,
He rose TO TAX the helm of State
From where the tlat-buat lay.
And Grant, whose sword so grandly won,
Han nerved his stalwart arm
To weld that sword, by welding first
The lanyard aud the farm.
And softly, when cur Smith and Young,
Beyot d our bushing now.
Were plotting Mormon wckedness,
Our Edmunds held the plow.
Our stalwart bro her plows again,
And tears the turf asuuder,
His coulter stlrs the Mormon nest,
God grant, he turn it under.
The man whose fame will long endure
When y nder shaft has crumbled,
Was born among our rugged hills
And when the ST. rm- cl I'D rumbled,
He caught the key, and senates sat
Inawe and ilent wond r.
And far-oH nations paused to hear
Our Little Giant" thunder.
Among the men of mighty brain,
We boast u Marsh, whose story
lnwrought in our dIpl macy,
Has crowned our land with glory.
Such mastery OF tongues was his
vouch it is no fable.
He might have been Interpreter
And the din of Babel,
But bark Amoo g the cypress boughs,
The eastern breeze is sighing.
Low lies our laureate, lone and blind,
Beneath the shadow, dy ing.
Alas; our genial gentle SAKE,
Hust GRO the gloomy river,
Be this his prare, the arrows keen,
Whercwlth ne filled his culver.
We're always tempered in his heart,
Mt one with poison poln,ed,
Enlerpe knew his kindly soul,
And crowned him chief anointed.
His wit has made million homes
Resound from sill to rditcr,
For he was fOreOrdained TO shake
Earth's diaphragm with laughter.
Our laurel wreath is wet with tears,
liut tender we bind II
And lay ii by his pilO Y, where
Ills cropping hand may md it.
And now, among the marble hills
In iancN ! am roaming,
Hush, b. Others who i this who sings
soHweetly through the gloaming
1t is modest, gentle song,
But some whc hidden in ii
There is power TO 20 ch the heart
And hold and help and wIn il.
The epic sounds the bugle call
And boasts among the sian,
The Tyre sings tender SOM
Beside the bed of pam.
The epic thunders DER the field,
It's chargers tiecked with foam
III lyilc kncels 10 catch he words
OF loves last message home.
But who is this, this singer rare?
whose sOug my spirit thrills,
Not our, my brothers, but the song
Is NATIVE ) our hils.
y nesting of the sunny south,
our mountains waited tor,
To be Il mother TO hes sons,
Fame e lis her, Mrs. Dorr
There is no lack of worthy names
Upon our muster roll.
And me ting all the + rightful claims
Would be to name the whole.
And so to stay the threatening tide,
say, md shut the door,
We've Edmunds, aud we have beside
Three hundred thousand more.
The maple never vie Dis its sweets
To us until we wound it;
me nbre OF the steel grows firm
lIaEh lT N md